


Sala-gadoola-menchicka-boo-la, or, Three Nuts for Cinderella

by Evil_Knitter (Nichneven13)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas and Gabriel are the stepbrothers, Cinderella - Freeform, Crack, M/M, Romance, Silly, balls, cheesy af, fairy godmother - Freeform, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nichneven13/pseuds/Evil_Knitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt from Princess Aleera on LJ in 2011: “The classical fairytale of Cinderella, but with a twist; think good stepbrothers, double-dates, and a glittery Godmother of your own choice.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sala-gadoola-menchicka-boo-la, or, Three Nuts for Cinderella

Once upon a time, there lived a handsome little boy with cinder dark hair and indigo eyes by the name of Castiel. He was beloved by all who knew him, but most especially cherished by his father. He was an unaffected child, jubilant and carefree. His voice was always raised in song, bringing smiles to those who happened to hear him.   
    
But then tragedy befell the boy. His father disappeared while at work and after a month’s frantic search, was proclaimed dead. Castiel was left in his stepmother’s care. His songs stopped and his bright eyes dimmed along with his smile. Despite his stepbrothers’ best efforts, melancholy gripped the boy tightly in its grasp. For years, Castiel threw himself into his work, refusing to stop to play with Dean or Gabriel when they invited him. He scrubbed the floors, hand washed the draperies, prepared lavish meals, tended the animals in the barn behind the house.   
    
“I want to do it,” Castiel said when Gabriel tried to wrestle the mop away from him on a particularly sunny day. “Go find Dean. He will go swimming with you.”   
    
“It helps me think,” he said when Dean tried to shoulder him away from their fat bellied cook stove. “Go find Gabe. He will go to town with you.”   
    
“I don’t mind,” he said when his stepmother Ellen tried to snatch her dirty stockings out of his hands. “I am sure Dean or Gabe will sit with you for luncheon.”   
    
The Harvelle family loved Castiel, so they gave in to his peculiar desire to clean his life away. They dismissed the majority of their staff when it became apparent that Castiel would growl and snap at anyone daring to rob him of chores.   
    
“It’s not that I enjoy it,” Castiel said one day, mainly talking to himself, but the mice he was feeding table scraps stared at him with rapt attention. “The cleaning and cooking. But I do not want to marry one of the ridiculously coiffed girls in town. I like it here. It is my father’s home and I want it well maintained. Is that so bad?”   
    
The chubbiest mouse, who Castiel secretly called Gustav—Gus for short, twitched his pink nose. Castiel thought that was indicative of the mouse’s support, for which he was glad.   
    
“ _Tumble outta bed and I stumble to the kitchen_ ,” Castiel sang lowly to himself, as was customary when he started a new project. “ _Pour myself a cup of ambition, and yawn and stretch and come to life_.”   
    
“You’re killing me, Cas,” Dean groaned as his stepbrother meandered past bearing a ladder over his shoulder. “Can’t you just give it a rest?”   
    
“ _Jump in the shower and the blood starts pumpin’,_ ” Castiel sang and winked. “ _Out on the street the traffic starts jumpin’. The folks like me working nine to five_.”   
    
“If I break both of your legs,” Gabriel joined in, tugging at the ladder to make it heavier. “You’ll have to sit still, won’t you?”   
    
Castiel loved his stepbrothers, but they were a pain in his keester. He wanted to work; he needed the distraction. His father’s death was still fresh in his mind, even though five years had since past.   
    
“The apples won’t pick themselves,” Castiel pointed out and tugged back on his ladder. Dean had made off with his wooden barrel, but it was easier to find another mode of apple transport than to get the ladder out of a tree—or from the roof—or from wherever Gabriel would hide it. “Don’t you have a call to make on Kali this afternoon? I was sure I told you her footman came around with an invitation to tea yesterday.”   
    
“Yeah, but you’re my brother,” Gabriel said, not releasing his hold on the ladder. “I don’t want a servant, Cas, I want a  _brother_. Get a  _servant_  pick the damn apples.”   
    
“You have Dean,” Cas said with a sigh. “And we don’t have any servants.”   
    
“Because you fired them,” Dean called from his perch beside the lake. Castiel could see his apple barrel bobbing in the middle. It wouldn’t sink and he was sure he could swim out later to retrieve it. “Come on, Cas. You’re twenty. It’s time you stop dicking around. You need to get laid.”   
    
Castiel kept his lips shut tight over his mouth. He knew what he was, but he felt no need to tell his brothers. He had made the mistake of telling his father, and it had killed him. He had confessed to his father just before the man went to his office in the palace. Castiel had not seen his father since. He was certain that the man had simply abandoned his family in lieu of shouldering the embarrassment of a son who longed for a husband instead of a wife.   
    
He trained his eyes on a spot over Dean’s shoulder, across their property, where a white horse and carriage lumbered down the dirt lane. It was obviously an envoy from the palace, where King John and his lovely queen Mary resided. The five-pointed star encircled by flames rode proudly on the red flag carried by the lead rider.  
    
“A palace rider,” Gabriel exclaimed, letting go of the ladder at once. “I wonder what they want. Did you pay the taxes, Cas?”   
    
Castiel put the ladder down, curious despite himself. It had been many years since any representative from the palace had made the arduous trek to Harvelle Manor. Castiel’s father had been of importance, as the king’s chief advisor, but his disappearance had quelled the royal family’s interest in the Harvelle family.   
    
He was technically the man of the house, as the oldest son and his father’s only blood relative. As he followed Gabriel and Dean to the house, he tried to smooth down the front of his coarse work shirt and brush the dust from his britches. Even if there had been time to change to receive the palace visitors, he was not in possession of anything finer than linen shirts and leather pantaloons. He was not one to entertain; his clothes were sturdy and made for hard work.   
    
The trio reached the front stoop as the carriage drew to a stop. A footman dressed in a smart red uniform and top hat folded down the stairs to let out its passenger. A stately older man with very few gray hairs left on his head descended the velvet-padded stairs and approached the boys with his head held high.   
    
“Welcome to Harvelle Manor,” Castiel said with a bow of his head.   
    
“I am Lord Zachariah,” the man said, looking down his nose at Castiel. “I am looking for Castiel Harvelle, or failing that, Ellen Harvelle.”   
    
“I am Castiel Harvelle,” Castiel said and blushed over the state of his clothing. He was fairly sure that he had chicken feed in his hair.   
    
“Indeed,” Lord Zachariah sniffed and adjusted his lacy cuffs. “In that case, King John and Queen Mary wish me to extend an invitation to your family. The Princess JoAnna is of marriageable age and is to be presented at Court this evening at a lavish ball. The presence of every eligible man in the kingdom is requested at the presentation.”   
    
“My lord,” Castiel began, seeking for an escape from an evening of marriage-making. “I am afraid—”   
    
“We’ll be there,” Dean said abruptly, stepping in front of his startled older brother. “Ready to be presented, and mostly presentable.”   
    
Gabriel snickered into his hand.   
    
Lord Zachariah nodded tersely, turned on his booted heel and made quick work of returning to the carriage. Two quick raps on the carriage roof, and he was off in a cloud of dust and hoof clops.   
    
“Whyever did you do that?” Castiel demanded, shoving Dean out of his way. “I do not have time to prance around at a ball, lavish or otherwise. I will write the king a note giving my apologies and  _you_  will deliver it to him.”   
    
“I won’t,” Dean said and looked to Gabriel for support, which of course he found. It was always the two of them against Castiel and his bizarre ideas. “You are coming to the ball, even if we have to dose you with laudanum to get you there.”   
    
“And when we are there,” Gabriel added in a growl. “You will smile at the pretty girls and  _like_  it.”   
    
Castiel ground his teeth together. If he did not adore his brothers as entirely as he did, he would beat them soundly for their impertinence. He watched as the two dashed into the house, calling for their mother, delivering the news of excitement and trips to the palace. There were limits, Castiel decided, to the weight he could bear, but he had yet to reach it. He would attend the ball, he would dance… but he would deflect any pointed questions from anxious mommas attempting to foist their daughters upon him. It was not a sound plan, but it was the best he could do.   
    
**   
    
Castiel sighed at his reflection. He had borrowed a jacket from Dean, but it was ill-fitted in the shoulders. The pantaloons he’d found in an old trunk of his father’s were terribly outmoded and his boots were scuffed. No mother would be looking to marry her daughter off to him after all.   
    
Down the hall, he could hear his brothers laughing and teasing each other as they chose their ascots and cuff links. His stepmother’s smoky voice rose above them in an attempt to call them to order and decorum. It was a lost battle before it had been waged, Castiel knew, but he smiled at Ellen’s tenacity at even trying.   
    
He slipped down the stairs without being detected and headed to the pumpkin patch by way of the back door. There were bugs on the leaves earlier and he wanted to check if the mixture of herbs had done anything to dispel them. As he wandered the rows, reaching down to rub the leaves and vines between his fingers, he considered his life. He was destined to live in the house with his stepmother forever. His brothers would marry and carve their own paths, but he would remain behind.   
    
Loneliness. It was an emotion he recognized and did not welcome. He shoved it aside and focused once more on the pumpkins peppering the path.   
    
“You don’t have to be lonely, Castiel,” a voice broke the relative silence of the twilight. Castiel swung around and was shocked to see a small man with a scruffy beard standing a few yards away in the shadows of the willow tree.   
    
“Who are you?” Castiel demanded, taking a series of steps forward to confront the trespasser. “What business do you have here?”   
    
“My name is Chuck,” the man said, stepping out of the shadows to reveal an ice blue suit with billowing pants and fitted jacket. The fabric sparkled in the rapidly disappearing light of day. “And I am your fairy godmother.”   
    
“But you’re a man,” Castiel said, which struck him as odd because there were other more important questions he could have started with.   
    
“Right, yeah,” the fairy godmother Chuck said with a roll of his eyes. “I know that, but hey, that’s the job title. One day I was resting on my laurels and then next, boom, I was assigned to fairy godmother duties. I’ve filed a complaint with the Head Fairy In Charge, but politics, man. Anyway, here I am.”   
    
“Be that as it may,” Castiel shook his head and decided his best course of action was to round up Dean and Gabriel and escort the mentally disturbed man from their property. “I am in no need of fairy godmother services. I bid you a good evening, sir.”   
    
“Wait, wait,” Chuck rushed forward, sending a spray of glitter into the air. Tiny iridescent wings propelled him through the air, albeit gracelessly. “I have to see this through, man. If I screw up another one of these, I’m headed to tooth fairy duty for sure. Come on, there’s got to be  _some_ thing.”   
    
“My apologies, but no.”   
    
“Give me a minute,” Chuck said, rubbing his hand over his forehead. His dark eyes narrowed as he took full stock of Castiel. “Oh, is that all? You need to hook up?”   
    
“To… what?”   
    
“You know,” Chuck gesticulated broadly, ending with a pelvic thrust between his outstretched arms. “A lady friend. A wife.”   
    
“I do not.”   
    
Chuck blinked and narrowed his eyes again. Castiel shifted from foot to foot as a prickly feeling danced along his spine and over his scalp. He got the distinct impression that the feeling was coming from the man eyeballing him like a prize hog.   
    
“Oh,” Chuck finally said with a snort and an obscene hand motion. “I’ve got it now. You want a man.”   
    
Castiel gasped and hurried to clap a hand over the fairy godmother’s mouth.   
    
“It’s not a problem,” Chuck mumbled from behind Castiel’s palm. He snapped his fingers and a twinkly silver wand appeared in midair. He backed away from Castiel and brushed glittery dust from his lapels. “Look, the rules are clear. You want a man, I’ll get you a man.”   
    
“No,” Castiel groaned. He was starting to believe the fairy was indeed a fairy. “Just go away.”   
    
“No can do, buddy,” Chuck said with an apologetic grimace. “Let’s see. I’ll start with… yeah, okay, here we go. Look, there’s going to be some… singing, so yeah. Just. Okay, now here we go.”   
    
Castiel stood in the clearing, his mouth hanging open as he watched sparks zap out of Chuck’s wand.   
    
“ _Sala-gadoola-menchicka-boo-la Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo_ ,” Chuck sang as he drew large patterns in the air. The air danced with the magic that Castiel never thought existed. “ _Put 'em together and what have you got? Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo_.”   
    
The air responded to the words, twirling and carrying the sparks from the wand to his feet, where they gathered into a thick band that glowed and started a slow circular progression up his legs. It tickled, he thought.   
    
“ _Sala-gadoola-menchicka-boo-la Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo_ ,” Chuck sang on, twitching his wand up to guide the glowing light up Castiel’s body. The fairy swayed back and forth as he worked, a maniacal grin on his face. “ _It'll do magic, believe it or not. Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo_.”   
    
Castiel glanced down and was shocked to find a pair of slick black britches had replaced his old-fashioned pants, hugging his thighs and skimming his legs. He stared in wonder at the light as it melted away his linen shirt and Dean’s too-large dinner jacket and poured a sumptuous silk shirt and neckerchief over him. A wide sash of purple bearing the Harvelle family crest of a crossroads with an angel hovering in the air draped over his left shoulder and clasped at his hip with a heavy silver buckle.   
    
“ _Now sala-gadoola means menchicka-boolaroo_ ,” Chuck continued on, spinning around Castiel and flicking his wand. The scruff along Castiel’s jaw vanished and the tangles in his wavy black hair disappeared with a quick yank of pressure. “ _But the thingmabob that does the job is Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo_.”   
    
“What the--?”   
    
“Wait, there’s one more verse I have to get out,” Chuck said, stopping his dance and twisting his mouth in consternation. “You mind?”   
    
“Um,” Castiel shrugged and shook himself. Chuck’s singing was atrocious, but he was too polite to mention it. “No, go ahead.”   
    
“ _Sala-gadoola-menchicka-boo-la Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo_ ,” he crowed at the top of his voice, which made Castiel’s eyes bug out. He turned toward the house, but neither Dean nor Gabriel appeared. “ _Put 'em together and what have you got? Bibbidi-bobbidi bibbidi-bobbidi bibbidi-bobbidi-boo!_ ”   
    
The silence was glorious and Castiel took a moment to revel in it.   
    
“I’m done,” Chuck said, his tone offended, as if Castiel could have at least applauded. “Here’s the fine print. You have until midnight to find the prince of your dreams, after that it all goes vamoose. Got it? Midnight. Vamoose.”   
    
“Chuck,” Castiel held his hands out to examine the detailed stitching of the shirt. “Thank you for the lovely clothing, but you are mistaken. I do not seek a husband.”   
    
“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Chuck waved Castiel away. When Castiel did not move to walk away, Chuck sighed. “Look, go to the damn ball and enjoy it. If you happen upon a prince, hook it up. If you don’t, my bad. No harm, no foul. But seriously, midnight and vamoose.”   
    
Castiel took a moment to process the strange words the fairy used to express his thoughts. It was as if the funny little man was from a different time and place, which would stand to reason if he was, in fact, a fairy.   
    
“Cas?” Dean called from the front steps, where he stood next to his mother and Gabriel. “You better not be in that damn pumpkin patch getting dirty!”   
    
“Get your ass in that carriage and go dance the night away,” Chuck gave Castiel a shove, but it did little more than temporarily unbalance the deceptively strong man. “Look, man, you can walk over there, or I can whip up a little fairy dust to carry you. Your choice.”   
    
Castiel started walking, his head still foggy from the unexpected turn of events, but certain he did not wish to arrive at the carriage by way of fairy express.   
    
“Remember,” Chuck said. Castiel paused and glanced over his shoulder. “The poofery disappears at midnight. You have five hours to make the magic happen. Hop to it, grasshopper.”   
    
With one last swish and flick of the wand, Chuck disappeared, leaving Castiel to wonder what, exactly, Gabriel had slipped in his tea to make his hallucinations so vivid.   
    
**   
    
It took one hour to traverse the road to the palace, which suited Castiel just fine. He had more than enough explaining to do to fill the time. By time the Harvelle family pulled up to the palace gates, Dean and Gabriel had laughed themselves into coughing fits at the story their brother had woven about fairies in blue suits with nonsensical songs.   
    
“What a charming story,” Ellen said, patting her stepson on the arm just before the footman opened the carriage door. “You have a gift for fantasy, Castiel.”   
    
The family traveled up the wide staircase and through the heavily guarded front hall to the sunken ballroom. Couples dressed in their best satins and silks twirled around the floor under the watchful eye of King John and Queen Mary. Beside them sat a handsome young man whose foot kicked impatiently at his father’s throne.   
    
“That’s Prince Samuel,” Ellen said, leaning up to whisper at Castiel’s ear. “He is eighteen and gossip in town is that he does not wish to procure a wife.”   
    
“Perhaps in a few years,” Castiel murmured as his eyes cataloged every detail of the prince’s visage. He was beautiful and pouting, a combination that made Castiel’s stomach flutter nervously.   
    
“Perhaps,” Ellen agreed, her hand tightening on Castiel’s forearm briefly. “Or perhaps he is in search of a husband instead.”   
    
Castiel stumbled over his unfamiliar boots. His head snapped around to stare at his stepmother, who was smiling at him in her exceedingly knowing way. A warm flush crawled up his neck and colored his face.   
    
“Come along boys,” Ellen said aloud, clamping her hand firmly on Castiel’s elbow. “Let us make our greetings to the King and Queen.”   
    
The walk around the circumference of the room was long and made in half the time Castiel would have liked. His thoughts were stuck on his stepmother’s seemingly casual acceptance of Prince Samuel’s preference in the marriage market. The way she mentioned it to him alone—it gave him pause. He had long hid himself for fear of his family’s reproach. It was possible, he had to allow, that he had been incorrect in his assumptions.   
    
So deep in thought he was that Castiel did not hear his family’s formal presentation to King John and Queen Mary. Only Ellen’s tug on his arm reminded him to bend low at the waist in supplication. As he straightened, he found Prince Samuel’s eyes trained on his face.   
    
“Castiel,” King John rose from his throne and offered his hand to his former advisor’s son. “When last we met, you were a pocky boy with knobby knees and a cricket’s voice. You have come far in that department, I see.”   
    
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Castiel said, blushing under the weight of kingly praise. He was acutely aware of the prince and kept his peripheral vision trained on him. “And thank you for inviting my family to such a magnificent affair. I am pleased to see you and your family have continued to flourish.”   
    
King John laughed and clapped Castiel on the shoulder. “Come,” he said, steering Castiel to an empty chair at the right hand of his son. “Sit with us a moment and make my son’s acquaintance. I fear he is bored with these proceedings.”   
    
“Father, please,” Prince Samuel got to his feet and bounded down the dais. “Let me take Castiel on a turn about the grounds. I need fresh air if I’m to stay awake and watch Jo dance all night.”   
    
“Very well,” King John waved him away. “But be sure Castiel has a chance to dance with your sister. I would count him high in consideration for her hand.”   
    
Castiel swallowed around a lump sitting high on his tongue. He cursed the fairy godmother Chuck, as well as his lot in life. How could he refuse the king, should he decide Castiel was to marry his daughter? He tensed, ready to run and flee the kingdom forever, but the touch of fingers to his wrist held him captive.   
    
“Quick,” Prince Samuel said in a low voice that shot warm air over his cheek. “Before he changes his mind and makes you dance with every woman in sight. Come on.”   
    
It was only after the crisp air of night had him in its embrace that Castiel thought of his family, standing at the edge of the dance floor where he had abandoned them. He glanced over his shoulder, but did not see them through the colorful, dancing crowd.   
    
“Prince Samuel—”   
    
“Sam,” the prince corrected with a grin. “Call me Sam. But not Sammy. Jo calls me Sammy and I hate that. Are you called Cas? Castiel is a lot to wrap my tongue around.”   
    
Castiel thought that his head just might explode. He had heard the word  _tongue_  a thousand times over, but never before had the word given way to a deep throb in his gut. Images of the prince’s tongue barraged him and pushed the throb lower.   
    
“Cas?”   
    
“What?” Castiel licked his parched lips and shook his head. “Oh. Yes, yes, my brothers’ call me Cas.”   
    
They walked in companionable silence, Sam’s fingers still firmly wrapped around Castiel’s wrist. The lawn behind the palace was home to a remarkable fountain and paths surrounded by intricately pruned shrubbery. Castiel delighted in the geometric shapes and the sound of the perpetually running water as it gurgled from the mouth of a great fish.   
    
“I think I could make a fountain like that,” Castiel said suddenly and then flushed. He had no business speaking to the royal son about such trivialities. “I mean…”   
    
“Oh yeah?” Sam turned to smile at Castiel. “That’d be neat. I like to make my own arrows.”   
    
“Do you hunt?” Castiel asked before he could force himself to remain silent. It had been years since he had interacted with anyone of importance outside his family. It was best, he’d thought, to keep hidden away.   
    
“Yeah,” Sam said in what Castiel was learning was his own particular cadence. It was closer in comparison to the fairy godmother Chuck’s than to King John’s. “My dad likes to hunt; so does my sister and mother. I prefer to read and study.”   
    
“I used to study theology,” Castiel offered and found his steps aligning with the prince’s. “But when my father died, I abandoned the field. Now I run the family estate.”   
    
“That’s cool,” Sam said and wrinkled his nose. His fingers stretched out and danced down Castiel’s palm. “My dad doesn’t let me do anything of importance. I don’t think he trusts me.”   
    
“Maybe he does not want to burden you,” Castiel offered; distracted by his thundering heart beat. He shifted slightly, pulling his shoulder up to make his hand slip— _accidentally_ —into Sam’s. “You should continue your studies. It will make you a wise king one day.”   
    
“Oh, I won’t be king,” Sam snorted and kicked a pinecone in his path. His fingers threaded with Castiel’s and squeezed gently. “He says if I don’t marry, he will not leave me the crown. And I won’t marry; I won’t.”   
    
“It seems a lot to give up,” Castiel noted, delivering his own squeeze to Sam’s fingers. His palm was sweating with nerves and confusion, but he would never pull away on his own. Sam’s hand was the first one to ever be pressed palm-to-palm with his own. “Why not find a nice girl so the crown can be yours?”   
    
“Because there are more important things than a stupid hat,” Sam said as he led Castiel to an alcove under the main ballroom’s balcony. The music spilled over the ledge and found their shadowy spot. “Like dancing. Will you dance with me?”   
    
It did not occur to Castiel to jerk away or remind the prince of societal norms. He simply stepped into the taller boy’s arms and gazed up at the face of beauty. Never had Castiel dared to dream of a dance with a handsome man on the palace lawn. He had never even allowed himself to fantasize talking to another like him.   
    
“I like you, Cas,” Sam said, one hand trailing from Castiel’s shoulder to his hip. The prince’s hand burned through the fabric of the other boy’s clothes and left a mark. “Will you come to court? Be my… be my… courtier?”   
    
“Your courtier?” Castiel exhaled the breath he’d been holding for too long to be healthy. “You want me to be your courtier?”   
    
“Yeah,” Sam smiled with one side of his mouth, but his hazel eyes were darting around in confusion. “I think so. We could…”   
    
“A courtier serves the royal family,” Castiel said and drew away from Sam’s chest where it bumped so casually against his own. He found the space of air between them gave him full—well, mostly full—use of his faculties. “I have no desire to serve you.”   
    
“You don’t?” Sam’s smile transformed into a delighted grin, but just as quickly fell to a serious line accompanied by half-closed eyes. “Tell me, Cas, what  _do_ you desire? Do you desire  _me_?”   
    
“I…” Cas stammered as Sam hauled him against his chest once again. “You…”   
    
“What if  _I_  desire to serve  _you_?” Sam continued as he bent forward, leaning close to Castiel’s open mouth. “What if  _I_ desire  _you_?”   
    
“That would be,” Castiel gulped in a lungful of air to sustain him through the night. “Acceptable.”   
    
Sam closed the last gap between them—the tiniest space—and kissed Castiel firmly. At first, Castiel could not distinguish his heartbeat from the tolling of the clock from the nearby bell tower.   
    
 _Midnight. Vamoose._    
    
Castiel jerked away, suddenly embarrassed. The prince desired the expertly fashioned Castiel Harvelle… not Cas who wore dirt beneath his nails and shirts that felt like the wrong side of a goat. He had to go. Immediately.   
    
“I’m sorry,” Castiel said as disentangled his arms from Sam’s. He stumbled away on shaky knees. “I have to go. It’s nearly midnight.”   
    
“Don’t go,” Sam made a move to grab Castiel’s hand, but the smaller man slipped between the bushes and jogged toward the line of carriages at the front of the palace. The prince gave chase, but he was not accustomed to running and was much slower than his game. “Cas! Cas, wait!”   
    
But Castiel had thrown himself into the Harvelle carriage and barked the order to leave—with great haste. He would send the driver back to the palace immediately to collect his family, after he was closer to home, closer to reality. He leaned his elbows on his knees and let his head fall. Behind him, he could hear Sam’s honeyed voice calling his name, but he didn’t dare look back.   
    
It was on the strike of midnight that his clothes vamoosed.   
    
**   
    
“You missed the drama,” Gabriel said, tossing an apple into the air and catching it on his way into Castiel’s bedroom the next morning. “Dean’s been arrested for taking liberties with Princess Joanna.”   
    
“What?” Castiel sat up in his bed, all thoughts of Sam vanishing into panic for his brother. “Have they taken him to the Tower? Why aren’t you dressed? I must go to him!”   
    
“You are too easy,” Gabriel chuckled as he climbed onto the foot of his brother’s bed. “Calm down. He’s in the kitchen pigging out on that pie you made yesterday morning.”   
    
“Cruel,” Castiel accused and sank back beneath his covers. “One day, Dean really will be arrested, and I will not believe you.”   
    
“You always believe me, Cas,” Gabriel laughed and took a bite of his apple. “So why did you bail? Did you suddenly remember a sewing emergency here? Did you little mice friends need a new wardrobe?”   
    
“Shove off,” Castiel grumbled. It was one time— _one time_ —many years ago that Castiel had tried to force little hats and jackets on the mice that gathered to receive scraps at the back door. Gabriel had never let him live it down. “I was tired.”   
    
“Then why was Prince Samuel so agitated when he returned from your walk?”   
    
Castiel’s eyes tightened at the corners. He had hoped that Sam had returned to his father’s side and become distracted by the glittering party and his pretty guests.   
    
“He’s sending a carriage around this afternoon,” Gabriel continued as if his news was nothing more than the weather report. “The prince wants you to have tea with him. Why would he want that, Cas?”   
    
“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said as he entered the room, licking stray strawberry sauce from his fingers. “ _Why_  would Prince Sammy want that?”   
    
“I do not know,” Castiel said, pushing himself against the wall to face his brothers. His stomach flipped and twisted at the news. The prince wanted to see him again. A smile forced its way to his lips, despite his Herculean effort to prevent it. “I cannot explain. But I cannot go.”   
    
“Dude,” Dean said and contorted his features into a perfect picture of incredulity. “Sometimes you are so stupid. Like, too stupid to breathe.”   
    
“No,” Gabriel defended his brother with a smack to Dean’s shoulder. “He’s just clueless. Although clearly he thinks  _we_  are stupid.”   
    
“I never!” Castiel exclaimed. His brothers were tricksters (especially Gabriel), but he would proudly tell anyone who would listen that his brothers were both clever and quick-witted.   
    
“Is that why you keep pretending not to know?” Gabriel asked. Castiel tilted his head, confused by the vague question. There was plenty Castiel did not know. “Seriously, Cas? We know you prefer men.”   
    
Castiel felt his jaw open wide and his arms fall heavily against the mattress.   
    
“We figured you would tell us,” Dean said and flopped down beside Castiel. “We joked you. We even tried to push you into dancing with a girl so you would be forced to admit it. You, Cas, are the most stubborn son of a bitch in the world.”   
    
Castiel gasped for air, but there appeared to be none left in the room. He heard his squeaked attempt to draw for oxygen, and in a second—with a swear that would have made Castiel blush had he not been in the process of dying—Gabriel was forcing his head low with a hand on the back of his neck.   
    
“Breathe, Cas,” he said with a laugh. “It’s okay. We’ve known for  _years_. Your father told us. It’s  _okay_.”   
    
Before he could groan at the ignominy, the doorbell rang and echoed up the stairs. All three boys froze and stared at the open door. From below, they heard soft steps approach the door and open it to the visitor.   
    
“Oh my god,” Castiel whispered. “Is it the prince’s carriage?”   
    
Dean scrambled off the bed and darted to look out the glass-paned window. He nodded his head when he spied the easily recognizable flag. He was about to draw away and return to his brother when the carriage door open and Prince Samuel descended, casting his gaze up to the windows lining the front of their home.   
    
“Balls,” Dean cried and ducked low, turning to look at Gabriel in horror. “It’s the prince himself. He’s here!”   
    
“Oh my god,” Castiel said, only louder than before. His eyes rounded to match his open mouth as he sat in shock amongst his bedclothes.   
    
“Right,” Gabriel bounced off the bed and snapped his fingers. “Let’s just call that fairy godmother of yours. Chop, chop, bro.”   
    
“I can’t ‘chop chop’,” Castiel said with a shake of his head. “I didn’t ask for Chuck to come before. I don’t know how to get him now. You have to go to Sam; tell him I’m ill.”   
    
“ _Sam_?” Dean boggled. “You call the prince  _Sam_? To his face?”   
    
‘”Dean, focus,” Gabriel said with another snap of his fingers. “The friggin’ prince is here to court our brother. We need a plan.”   
    
“Boys?” Ellen called a moment before she glided into the room. Her kind eyes were glazed over with the shock of having a royal son materialize in her entryway. “The prince is here to call on Castiel.”   
    
“No,” Castiel pulled the covers over his head with a petulant whine. His life had been set; he had accepted his fate as his stepmother’s companion, tied to his father’s house without true happiness. “No, send him away.”   
    
“Send away  _the prince_?” Ellen hissed and hurried to uncover her stepson. “What is wrong with you, my little love?”   
    
The sound of boots clicking on the polished floor made the entire Harvelle family tense and wait for the inevitable.   
    
“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear. I’ve been very rude,” Prince Samuel said softly from just inside the bedroom, his eyes on the object of his affection. “Cas, I am sorry. I will go.”   
    
With a quick turn on his heel, Sam disappeared, leaving the room filled with Harvelles silent and shocked. Castiel held the blankets aloft as his legs twitched and tensed to chase after Sam. He had never been in love before, but he thought the fizzy bubbles in his stomach might be a symptom of the condition.   
    
“Wait,” he whispered. Dean startled from his place beside his brother. Gabriel turned a surprised face to his mother. Castiel cleared his throat and said in a loud clear voice: “Wait! Sam!”   
    
The front door opened, but did not close. The sounds of the horses snorting in the cool morning air drifted up the stairwell. There was no evidence of Prince Sam’s sure step across the graveled rock of their drive. Greatly heartened, Castiel scrambled to his feet and ran from the room. He did not bother to quibble over his wrinkled nightshirt or bare feet.   
    
“Sam,” Castiel shouted from the top of the stairs, leaning precariously over the railing. “Don’t go.”   
    
Sam turned slowly in the doorway, tilting his head back to look at Castiel. His lips stretched wide in a joyous smile. “I will stay when you order me to do so,” Sam said without hesitation. “And leave under the same condition. I am yours, if you come to me, here and now, and tell me you love me as I love you.”   
    
It was a long trip down the wide stairs of Harvelle Manor, but when Castiel reached the bottom, Prince Sam had moved to meet him at the landing. He grinned so widely that a dimple popped into view.   
    
“Hello, Sam,” Castiel murmured, casting his eyes down in an attack of self-conciousness.   
    
“Hello, Cas,” Sam said and Castiel could hear the amusement in his voice. He started to blush, but Sam’s palm against his cheek distracted the flow of his blood. He leaned into the touch, enjoying the simplicity of love. “Am I yours?”   
    
“Yes,” Castiel nodded, his eyes snapping up to Sam’s. He wanted to see the man who loved him and who he would love forever. He wanted to rehire the servants and spend his days in the company of the beautiful prince. He would return to his studies so he could sit with Sam and learn together. He would leave Harvelle Manor to his stepmother and brothers and go find a life with Sam. All of that and more. “As much as I am yours.”   
    
When Sam bent down, his intention to kiss Castiel clearly splashed across his face, Castiel leaned up on his toes to meet him halfway. The sound of applause at the top of the stairs did not shake the prince and his love apart. Castiel wound his arms around Sam’s neck and pressed himself closer, ready at last to love openly and passionately—with his family’s blessing.   
    
It was several months later when Castiel Harvelle wed Prince Samuel in a traditional royal wedding, with King John and Queen Mary in attendance. The celebration spilled into the streets and lasted a solid week. No one was more pleased than Castiel Harvelle’s father, who watched from Heaven with the fairy godmother Chuck at his side.   
    
“You did well, Chuck,” his father said with a familiar pat on the little fairy’s head. “You have a gift for matchmaking.”   
    
“That’s your way of telling me I’m stuck in this gig, isn’t it?” Chuck asked, his wings drooping at the back.   
    
Castiel’s father laughed, but vanished before he delivered an answer.   
    
“Damn,” Chuck sighed, and leaned forward on his cloud to watch Prince Sam pull Castiel into his arms and kiss him soundly. “They want kids. I’m going to need a bigger wand.”   
    
The End


End file.
